The time had come to face the realities of life, to put away the dreams.

She believed that Fletcher Hill was a good man, and he had been very patient.

She quivered a little at the thought of that patience of his.

There was a cast-iron quality about it, a forcefulness, that made her wonder.

Had she ever really met the man who dwelt within that coat of mail?
Could there be some terrible revelation in store for her?
Would she some day find that she had given herself to a being utterly alien to her in thought and impulse?
He had shown her so little--so very little--of his soul.
Did he really love her, she wondered?
Or had he merely determined to win her because it had been so hard a task?
He was a man who revelled in overcoming difficulties, in asserting his grim mastery in the face of heavy odds.